Ole June
by John Eagle
I suppose each town has a town drunk, no matter how small. Fort Adams had Ole June. Most didn't think much of June, and I suppose he didn't give them much to think about in the way of behavior. He drank. He didn't work. At least he didn't beg. He was a mystery to most, at least those who thought anything about him at all.
Even to a small boy he looked unfortunate, but twice helped to teach me a valuable lesson.
He came every afternoon to my uncle's general store, from where I never knew. My uncle would give him a broom and dustpan and he would sweep the unfinished cypress floors of the store to receive his dinner, a loaf of bread and a quart of milk. He would have preferred money, but he would only spend it on cheap wine at the Black Cat, a juke joint on the other side of the hill.
His Christian name was Junious, and near as I could tell he only had a couple of teeth in his head. He managed the Holsum Bread and milk well. Yet he once nearly died from eating too much shortbread. They were called Rock-n-Roll, but everyone knew them as "Stageplanks" - ginger shortbread cookies with a thin layer of dried pink icing. They came two to a pack, wrapped in wax paper, and were as dry as a campfire's ash.
One day, on the store's porch, some men bet ole June $5 he couldn't eat 10 of them without a drink.
"Reckon I could eat 15 of 'em fer a sawbuck,†said ole June, thinking of all the wine he could buy at the Black Cat.
He shoved the stageplanks in his mouth, gumming them and swallowing hard. He looked like a cow chewing on pecans, his jaws working side to side trying to grind the brittle shortbread with his gums. When June got to the 10th Stageplank, he was starting to cough and choke. Someone finally called off the bet and gave him some milk to wash it down. They agreed on $5 payment for the feat, half the bet, and he was off to the Black Cat for some wine.
"Where does he stay?" I asked my uncle.
"Ole June sleeps with the hawgs, I reckon," he said.
I didn't believe him. But the next morning I woke early and went to the pig sty behind the store to check if it were true. I didn't see June.
Junious had a powerful odor about him. He seldom bathed. My aunty told me the men would hog-tie him once a month and give him a good lye soap bath in the hog trough. I didn't believe this, either, but thought it would be amusing to witness.
And sure enough one evening, with the sun still high enough above the hill for sufficient light, several men grabbed ole June and hog-tied him. He fought like a wildcat, cussed every one of them.
They brought him back to the sty kicking and writhing and threw him in the old claw-footed tub that served as the hog trough and washed him with strong lye soap, clothes and all. It was a sad sight. I wasn't amused at all. Once in the water he just sat and stared at nothing, or something, one never knew with June. Perhaps he didn't object to the bath, but to the assumption that he would refuse to take one if asked.
The men were both serious and amused by their chore. They rubbed him roughly with the soap and laughed at jokes they told. Ole June had the most somber look on his face, as if he had been defiled. Perhaps he was. Maybe if I helped I would understand what was so amusing, I thought.
The ropes had come loose in the tub and they lifted him out. One man dumped a large bucket of water over his head, the soap and water cascading down. Little beads of water dappled the rise of his fluffy uneven hair and his old clothes clung to his thin, bent body. He had lost one of his old brogans in the tub, and just stood there, the water dripping off him, his eyes like slits of dull ebony.
I went home that night and took a bath. I didn't even have to be told.
I wanted to think better of June after that day, but I just couldn't. Or perhaps I was prejudiced by the opinion of everyone. We kids made fun of June, the way he shuffled when he walked each evening as he headed for the store. I am ashamed to say today that he knew. Little Mike one day even hollered: "Hey June, wanna stageplank?" He acted as if he didn't hear and just shuffled to the store.
We once followed him of an evening to see where he went when he left the store. Up the Mile Hill Road he shuffled, past the first bridge, then the second bridge, and around the bend and up the hill. We finally had to stop because it was getting dark, pitch black, the way it gets in the hills at night. We were scared of falling into a ravine, and wondered how Junious managed not to fall into one of those deep abysses.
I asked my aunty that night how he managed to walk up that hill without falling into the ravine and she just said that God protected people like June. "Why does He do that," I asked. She said God had a plan for everyone. We were all here for a reason. June's purpose had yet to be fulfilled.
It was heady stuff for a young boy. But I would understand all too well one day.
Some lessons in life are learned hard, some easy. After that night with Aunty I watched June closely, looking for his purpose. He would sit on that porch after his chores drinking his milk and eating his white bread while the men drank their beer and talked. He never said a word. Sometimes someone would make a point and June would just nod and take a sip of milk, staring up at the hills, his eyes glassy and his leathery dark skin shiny. He had a large mole on his cheekbone that moved when he chewed.
One evening June didn't show. No one seemed to be worried. The men still gathered on the porch drinking their Regal beer and talking about cattle and fish traps and such. I waited for June, looking down the road toward the part that bends up to the Mile Hill Road. Finally it was dark and I knew he wasn't coming. I wondered if his purpose was finally fulfilled and that he lay somewhere up there in a deep ravine, hungry, wanting his bread and milk.
I asked one of the men if he thought June was up in one of those ravines and shouldn't we go look for him. He just smiled down at me and shook his head. "Nah, Ole June prolly ovah t' the Black Cat, full 'o wine."
I went home that night and lay in bed thinking about June, wondering where he was. Finally I drifted off to sleep. Sometime during the night I had a dream. I was in a place where the light was fading and I was sinking, sinking slowly. My hands reached out to grab something but there was nothing there. I woke sweating. I must have talked aloud because Aunty came in holding a lantern, a look of consternation on her face.
"June didn't come to the store last night, Aunty. Do you reckon he found his purpose?"
"You still worried about June, boy? Ole June ain't worried about you. He's probably full of that wine and sleeping in a ditch somewhere. Go to bed, boy!"
I lay there for a long time that night trying to put that dream out of my head. I didn't dare tell Aunty about it. She might think I was sick or something and make me stay in bed in the morning. Finally I drifted off to sleep and woke in the morning with that dream still in my head.
I wandered around all day in fear of that dream and wondering if June would come to town. That evening we kids gathered at the cattle guard at Aunty and Uncle Cy's house, swinging on the long ranch gate from completely open until it hit its stop. Soon Ole June came shuffling into town. When he passed us at the gate Little Mike began to imitate his shuffle and I hollered out: "Hey June! Were you with the hogs last night?" He paused ever so briefly in his shuffle then continued to the store. I was immediately ashamed.
I watched him from afar that day, sitting on Aunty's porch. I saw him enter the store and soon he came out to sweep the porch, the men hardly moved to give him space to do his job. Then he came out with the loaf of bread and quart of milk, hitched one hip on the railing at the end of the porch and began his ritual of eating. The men drank their beer and laughed. Ole June he just stared out into the distance. For a little while it appeared as though he were looking directly at me. It gave me an eerie feeling at first, and then oddly warmed me.
The dream did not reoccur that night and though it took some time to get to sleep I awakened refreshed the next morning and decided a trip to the creek was in order that afternoon, it being a very hot summer.
Percy Creek was a typical upland creek, sandy bottomed with gravel barred shoals and a few deeper holes for swimming. On a hot summer day it was cooling to find a shallow sandy bottom and lie on your back and let the cool creek water eddy around you as you stared up into the blue, blue sky. You could go for a swim in the shallow swimming holes, swing from a rope over the water, or search for agate rocks along the gravel bars. Sometimes it was just fun to walk the creek exploring, listening for the wild turkeys or playing along the dunes which collected during heavy rains and flash floods.
This was a day for exploring. That afternoon I gathered the other kids for a trip to the creek, but none wanted to go. So I sojourned out alone. As I walked past the Mile Hill road I looked up as far as I could to where it made a bend up the hill, wondering if June would come down for his evening visit.
At the creek, I walked all the way to the sand dunes. Striates of sand where the water coursed made an interesting pattern on the creek bottom and trails of deer tracks could be discerned. I often wondered what it would be like to see a flash flood, watch all that water gush around the bends, the dunes piling up high and wide. Instinctively I looked up at the sky, but it was bright and blue, devoid of thunderheads. Only an odd cloud here and there could be seen floating high. A couple of buzzards soared up on the thermals and the mockingbirds' songs could be heard over the faint gurgle of the creek.
The peace of the moment was disturbed by a thrashing in the woods. Startled, I turned to see a wild hog and two shoats coming down the bank. The old mother hog was headed right for me and I dashed across the creek in terror, ambling up the bank, pulling myself along by grabbing saplings. I could hear her thrashing in the water, but I dared not look back. I just knew she was right on my heels.
I spotted a small water oak and sprinted for it; reaching for the first low branch I pulled myself up and climbed high into the tree. Only then did I look back for the old sow. She was huge and just coming up the bank. She came straight for the tree and began to circle it, snorting and bucking her massive head. I looked down and could see the hair on her back and the moisture around her nostrils. She bumped her big body fiercely against the tree and it shook, the vibrations felt in my hands which clutched a branch and bare feet that perched on a thick limb.
For what seemed a long time she remained under the tree, snorting and pacing. Finally she ambled away, back to her shoats. I didn't dare come down. I straddled a branch and hugged the trunk of the tree, shaking with fear. I was not sure how much time passed and I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew the light was fading back toward the hills and the golden hue of the day was slowly being replaced by a muted blue. It would be dark soon, I knew. Yet I was still afraid of the old sow, thought she might be near, wind me and come back for another go.
I remembered what and old hunter told me once how he rubbed mud and dirt on him to keep the deer from scenting him and so I found the courage to shimmy down the tree. Once on the ground I began rubbing the semi-dry sand of the creek bank all over me and only then did I venture into the creek bottom and head toward home. It was growing dark now and for a reference point I kept close to one bank, the opposite side from the sow and her young.
I figured I was a mile or more from the old bridge that sat down in a shallow ford where people crossed the creek by car on Sunday to go to services at the Magnolia Baptist Church. If I could make it there the road to town was right there and surely someone would pick me up and take me home.
I had gone several hundred yards down the creek bed and I found the sand soft, my feet being suctioned into a slimy, rocky bottom. The moon was up and I could see a faint oily sheen on the water and I knew I was in quicksand.
At first I struggled to free my feet, then remembered I was told to remain still and look for something in reach to hold on to. The bank was at least five feet away and I could see nothing in the gloomy dusk. So I stood there. I wanted to scream, yet did not want the sow to return. I prayed. Closed my eyes and asked God to help me.
In a moment I heard a soft rustling in the brush, up the bank. I kept my eyes closed and hoped the dirt and sand on my body would keep whatever creature there from winding me. Then, I felt a presence on the bank, could hear something breathing. I slowly opened my eyes and there was June, a long branch in his hands, nodding silently for me to take it, his eyes bright, clear and wide in the dim moonlight. I let out a deep breath and reached for the branch, pulled myself free from the shin-deep muck.
June walked me all the way home, the night black as an old tattoo. When we reached the cattle guard he just nodded and pointed to the house where Aunty and Uncle Cy waited on the porch. I wanted to say something but didn’t have the words. So I turned toward the house. When I looked back he was shuffling up the street toward the Mile Hill Road and soon disappeared in the blackness of the night.
To learn more about John Eagle, please read his interview with UTSQ; it can be found in Issue #18.
by John Eagle
I suppose each town has a town drunk, no matter how small. Fort Adams had Ole June. Most didn't think much of June, and I suppose he didn't give them much to think about in the way of behavior. He drank. He didn't work. At least he didn't beg. He was a mystery to most, at least those who thought anything about him at all.
Even to a small boy he looked unfortunate, but twice helped to teach me a valuable lesson.
He came every afternoon to my uncle's general store, from where I never knew. My uncle would give him a broom and dustpan and he would sweep the unfinished cypress floors of the store to receive his dinner, a loaf of bread and a quart of milk. He would have preferred money, but he would only spend it on cheap wine at the Black Cat, a juke joint on the other side of the hill.
His Christian name was Junious, and near as I could tell he only had a couple of teeth in his head. He managed the Holsum Bread and milk well. Yet he once nearly died from eating too much shortbread. They were called Rock-n-Roll, but everyone knew them as "Stageplanks" - ginger shortbread cookies with a thin layer of dried pink icing. They came two to a pack, wrapped in wax paper, and were as dry as a campfire's ash.
One day, on the store's porch, some men bet ole June $5 he couldn't eat 10 of them without a drink.
"Reckon I could eat 15 of 'em fer a sawbuck,†said ole June, thinking of all the wine he could buy at the Black Cat.
He shoved the stageplanks in his mouth, gumming them and swallowing hard. He looked like a cow chewing on pecans, his jaws working side to side trying to grind the brittle shortbread with his gums. When June got to the 10th Stageplank, he was starting to cough and choke. Someone finally called off the bet and gave him some milk to wash it down. They agreed on $5 payment for the feat, half the bet, and he was off to the Black Cat for some wine.
"Where does he stay?" I asked my uncle.
"Ole June sleeps with the hawgs, I reckon," he said.
I didn't believe him. But the next morning I woke early and went to the pig sty behind the store to check if it were true. I didn't see June.
Junious had a powerful odor about him. He seldom bathed. My aunty told me the men would hog-tie him once a month and give him a good lye soap bath in the hog trough. I didn't believe this, either, but thought it would be amusing to witness.
And sure enough one evening, with the sun still high enough above the hill for sufficient light, several men grabbed ole June and hog-tied him. He fought like a wildcat, cussed every one of them.
They brought him back to the sty kicking and writhing and threw him in the old claw-footed tub that served as the hog trough and washed him with strong lye soap, clothes and all. It was a sad sight. I wasn't amused at all. Once in the water he just sat and stared at nothing, or something, one never knew with June. Perhaps he didn't object to the bath, but to the assumption that he would refuse to take one if asked.
The men were both serious and amused by their chore. They rubbed him roughly with the soap and laughed at jokes they told. Ole June had the most somber look on his face, as if he had been defiled. Perhaps he was. Maybe if I helped I would understand what was so amusing, I thought.
The ropes had come loose in the tub and they lifted him out. One man dumped a large bucket of water over his head, the soap and water cascading down. Little beads of water dappled the rise of his fluffy uneven hair and his old clothes clung to his thin, bent body. He had lost one of his old brogans in the tub, and just stood there, the water dripping off him, his eyes like slits of dull ebony.
I went home that night and took a bath. I didn't even have to be told.
I wanted to think better of June after that day, but I just couldn't. Or perhaps I was prejudiced by the opinion of everyone. We kids made fun of June, the way he shuffled when he walked each evening as he headed for the store. I am ashamed to say today that he knew. Little Mike one day even hollered: "Hey June, wanna stageplank?" He acted as if he didn't hear and just shuffled to the store.
We once followed him of an evening to see where he went when he left the store. Up the Mile Hill Road he shuffled, past the first bridge, then the second bridge, and around the bend and up the hill. We finally had to stop because it was getting dark, pitch black, the way it gets in the hills at night. We were scared of falling into a ravine, and wondered how Junious managed not to fall into one of those deep abysses.
I asked my aunty that night how he managed to walk up that hill without falling into the ravine and she just said that God protected people like June. "Why does He do that," I asked. She said God had a plan for everyone. We were all here for a reason. June's purpose had yet to be fulfilled.
It was heady stuff for a young boy. But I would understand all too well one day.
Some lessons in life are learned hard, some easy. After that night with Aunty I watched June closely, looking for his purpose. He would sit on that porch after his chores drinking his milk and eating his white bread while the men drank their beer and talked. He never said a word. Sometimes someone would make a point and June would just nod and take a sip of milk, staring up at the hills, his eyes glassy and his leathery dark skin shiny. He had a large mole on his cheekbone that moved when he chewed.
One evening June didn't show. No one seemed to be worried. The men still gathered on the porch drinking their Regal beer and talking about cattle and fish traps and such. I waited for June, looking down the road toward the part that bends up to the Mile Hill Road. Finally it was dark and I knew he wasn't coming. I wondered if his purpose was finally fulfilled and that he lay somewhere up there in a deep ravine, hungry, wanting his bread and milk.
I asked one of the men if he thought June was up in one of those ravines and shouldn't we go look for him. He just smiled down at me and shook his head. "Nah, Ole June prolly ovah t' the Black Cat, full 'o wine."
I went home that night and lay in bed thinking about June, wondering where he was. Finally I drifted off to sleep. Sometime during the night I had a dream. I was in a place where the light was fading and I was sinking, sinking slowly. My hands reached out to grab something but there was nothing there. I woke sweating. I must have talked aloud because Aunty came in holding a lantern, a look of consternation on her face.
"June didn't come to the store last night, Aunty. Do you reckon he found his purpose?"
"You still worried about June, boy? Ole June ain't worried about you. He's probably full of that wine and sleeping in a ditch somewhere. Go to bed, boy!"
I lay there for a long time that night trying to put that dream out of my head. I didn't dare tell Aunty about it. She might think I was sick or something and make me stay in bed in the morning. Finally I drifted off to sleep and woke in the morning with that dream still in my head.
I wandered around all day in fear of that dream and wondering if June would come to town. That evening we kids gathered at the cattle guard at Aunty and Uncle Cy's house, swinging on the long ranch gate from completely open until it hit its stop. Soon Ole June came shuffling into town. When he passed us at the gate Little Mike began to imitate his shuffle and I hollered out: "Hey June! Were you with the hogs last night?" He paused ever so briefly in his shuffle then continued to the store. I was immediately ashamed.
I watched him from afar that day, sitting on Aunty's porch. I saw him enter the store and soon he came out to sweep the porch, the men hardly moved to give him space to do his job. Then he came out with the loaf of bread and quart of milk, hitched one hip on the railing at the end of the porch and began his ritual of eating. The men drank their beer and laughed. Ole June he just stared out into the distance. For a little while it appeared as though he were looking directly at me. It gave me an eerie feeling at first, and then oddly warmed me.
The dream did not reoccur that night and though it took some time to get to sleep I awakened refreshed the next morning and decided a trip to the creek was in order that afternoon, it being a very hot summer.
Percy Creek was a typical upland creek, sandy bottomed with gravel barred shoals and a few deeper holes for swimming. On a hot summer day it was cooling to find a shallow sandy bottom and lie on your back and let the cool creek water eddy around you as you stared up into the blue, blue sky. You could go for a swim in the shallow swimming holes, swing from a rope over the water, or search for agate rocks along the gravel bars. Sometimes it was just fun to walk the creek exploring, listening for the wild turkeys or playing along the dunes which collected during heavy rains and flash floods.
This was a day for exploring. That afternoon I gathered the other kids for a trip to the creek, but none wanted to go. So I sojourned out alone. As I walked past the Mile Hill road I looked up as far as I could to where it made a bend up the hill, wondering if June would come down for his evening visit.
At the creek, I walked all the way to the sand dunes. Striates of sand where the water coursed made an interesting pattern on the creek bottom and trails of deer tracks could be discerned. I often wondered what it would be like to see a flash flood, watch all that water gush around the bends, the dunes piling up high and wide. Instinctively I looked up at the sky, but it was bright and blue, devoid of thunderheads. Only an odd cloud here and there could be seen floating high. A couple of buzzards soared up on the thermals and the mockingbirds' songs could be heard over the faint gurgle of the creek.
The peace of the moment was disturbed by a thrashing in the woods. Startled, I turned to see a wild hog and two shoats coming down the bank. The old mother hog was headed right for me and I dashed across the creek in terror, ambling up the bank, pulling myself along by grabbing saplings. I could hear her thrashing in the water, but I dared not look back. I just knew she was right on my heels.
I spotted a small water oak and sprinted for it; reaching for the first low branch I pulled myself up and climbed high into the tree. Only then did I look back for the old sow. She was huge and just coming up the bank. She came straight for the tree and began to circle it, snorting and bucking her massive head. I looked down and could see the hair on her back and the moisture around her nostrils. She bumped her big body fiercely against the tree and it shook, the vibrations felt in my hands which clutched a branch and bare feet that perched on a thick limb.
For what seemed a long time she remained under the tree, snorting and pacing. Finally she ambled away, back to her shoats. I didn't dare come down. I straddled a branch and hugged the trunk of the tree, shaking with fear. I was not sure how much time passed and I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew the light was fading back toward the hills and the golden hue of the day was slowly being replaced by a muted blue. It would be dark soon, I knew. Yet I was still afraid of the old sow, thought she might be near, wind me and come back for another go.
I remembered what and old hunter told me once how he rubbed mud and dirt on him to keep the deer from scenting him and so I found the courage to shimmy down the tree. Once on the ground I began rubbing the semi-dry sand of the creek bank all over me and only then did I venture into the creek bottom and head toward home. It was growing dark now and for a reference point I kept close to one bank, the opposite side from the sow and her young.
I figured I was a mile or more from the old bridge that sat down in a shallow ford where people crossed the creek by car on Sunday to go to services at the Magnolia Baptist Church. If I could make it there the road to town was right there and surely someone would pick me up and take me home.
I had gone several hundred yards down the creek bed and I found the sand soft, my feet being suctioned into a slimy, rocky bottom. The moon was up and I could see a faint oily sheen on the water and I knew I was in quicksand.
At first I struggled to free my feet, then remembered I was told to remain still and look for something in reach to hold on to. The bank was at least five feet away and I could see nothing in the gloomy dusk. So I stood there. I wanted to scream, yet did not want the sow to return. I prayed. Closed my eyes and asked God to help me.
In a moment I heard a soft rustling in the brush, up the bank. I kept my eyes closed and hoped the dirt and sand on my body would keep whatever creature there from winding me. Then, I felt a presence on the bank, could hear something breathing. I slowly opened my eyes and there was June, a long branch in his hands, nodding silently for me to take it, his eyes bright, clear and wide in the dim moonlight. I let out a deep breath and reached for the branch, pulled myself free from the shin-deep muck.
June walked me all the way home, the night black as an old tattoo. When we reached the cattle guard he just nodded and pointed to the house where Aunty and Uncle Cy waited on the porch. I wanted to say something but didn’t have the words. So I turned toward the house. When I looked back he was shuffling up the street toward the Mile Hill Road and soon disappeared in the blackness of the night.
To learn more about John Eagle, please read his interview with UTSQ; it can be found in Issue #18.
